


When You Dress Like That

by neptunedemon



Series: Yuuri Week 2019 [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Clothes Kink, Day 3, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Yuuri Week 2019, post-GPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptunedemon/pseuds/neptunedemon
Summary: In which Viktor resists how much he wants Yuuri in his old costume for months. SO many months.Until, finally, he doesn’t have to.





	When You Dress Like That

**Author's Note:**

> [Day 3: Costume](http://yuuriweek2019.tumblr.com)

Yuuri finds his eros.

He finds it somehow, somewhere, digging through noodles and pork until he realizes there’s just an empty bowl at the bottom, and then he discovers something else on the ice that katsudon can’t fill, a place in his stomach hungry for a different kind of feeling.

And so he finds his eros.

Viktor watches the transformation from a distance. The facets, the pieces, they all come together at once in a seamless and fell swoop, but they hit his perception at different moments. Like an atom bomb. The sight, the light, and so much later, the sound slams into him with a breath-taking force.

The sound hits him when he first sees Yuuri skate in his old junior’s costume. Viktor already thought he was lost to this man, but if there’d been any doubt that this was anything more than a self-indulgent venture, it’s dashed during the Hot Springs on Ice. Yuuri, sweet, bashful Yuuri, lacking confidence he entirely deserves to own, adorning that old costume of his and mesmerizing Viktor.

It’s not even a real event or competition, not really, but Viktor’s heart stops at each curve of Yuuri’s body. The jeweled sequins wink the ice back at him when Yuuri shifts his hips. Mesh spreads across Yuuri’s pale skin like a web taunting Viktor to entangle himself, and then he realizes he’s already there. Each spray of ice, each breathy look he sends the audience (and, more often, Viktor himself) leaves him tortured by the thought that _this_ could be worthy of gold. He holds onto the things they need to work on, the advice he must give next, and that’s what will be his anchor at the end of this performance. What to work on. Because if he thinks about the rest of it, he’ll lose his goddamn mind.

Viktor had known he was infatuated with Yuuri before arriving in Hasetsu, and he hadn’t toyed with the thought of leaving, even when he didn’t entirely understand the sequence of events that led him here. Where he thought he’d understood the point A and point B, Yuuri seemed on an entirely different — and much more terrified — page. But it’s then he realizes he’s trapped.

He can’t let go.

And he REALLY wants to tear that costume off Yuuri. Except he can’t, because they need it to take him to the GPF, and why the hell did he not think about this beforehand.

By the time they’re at the Rostelecom Cup, his attempts to quash the rising tide in his soul really begin to show their fallible nature. It’d probably take one little push, before he...

Well. 

Anyway.

That’s why they’re where they are now.

“Really, Viktor?”

Yuuri’s suppressing a laugh, a hand over his face. The silver medal rests on his chest like an extension of his heart. Rising and falling with every breath.

It’s all over. Their futures are sealed and Barcelona is still sparkling outside their window. The banquet is in two hours. It’s the perfect time.

“I’m not even ashamed to ask. Just, please. I’ve waited so long.” He holds Yuuri’s hands, gripping them tightly, the security of their world wrapped around them in a strange city they'd made theirs, a hotel with everyone they loved huddled under their feet, and the lock of the door behind them. He hopes Yuuri can feel it, too — the way they’re suspended in an impenetrable timeline. Nothing can go wrong at this point; everything can only go right.

“I — uh, I want —” Yuuri hesitates. Viktor thinks he might burn Yuuri with the desire in his stare. Yuuri slowly nods. “Wait a few minutes, then? Unless you want to watch...”

“I’ll wait,” Viktor quips. He purses his lips, feels his cock twitch shamelessly in his pants. He’s just waited _so_ long. Yuuri gives him an amused look but doesn’t subject him to further tormenting questions. He moves to his suitcase and digs for the costume discarded from the previous day’s skate. It shimmers in the hotel light, twisting and delicate like a snakeskin, then Yuuri tucks it under his arm. Casting one last, tentative look at Viktor, he opens his mouth as if to ask something else; whatever he sees on Viktor changes his mind, and he shuts his mouth and enters the bathroom without another sound. The door clicks shut.

Viktor lets out a shaky breath. Heat trembles at his edges, a buildup of so long, and he practically _prays_ Yuuri doesn’t think he’s insane after this.

The fabric of his suit itches his skin; his tie is too tight, belt constricting, and maybe he should’ve waited until a shower or something for this request. But his mind rewinds to Yuuri on the ice yesterday. The sting of how Yuuri ended their night is still there, but today had sealed them together, and he feels more inclined than ever to stretch his arms through the web of Yuuri’s eros.

The bathroom door slinks open.

Oh, he _still_ never gives Yuuri enough credit.

Yuuri’s glasses are gone; he’s reapplied gel to his hair and pushed it back to its sleek glory, and somehow the exhaustion has been washed from his face. His smirk shoots an arrow through Viktor’s heart. His hand caresses down the doorframe and Viktor can feel it on his dick.

Oh, wow.

“Yuuri,” he breathes.

“Hey.”

“Come here.”

Yuuri cocks a hip. Sequins sparkle. “Don’t you know how this works, Viktor? Pretty sure you come to _me.”_

Viktor doesn’t know what he’s doing, but suddenly he’s against Yuuri, mouth on his. The kiss has the taste of Yuuri’s exhaustion for a moment, but something awakens in Yuuri, and he grabs onto the lapels of Viktor’s jacket and comes a little more alive. 

They almost stumble back into the bathroom, but Viktor pulls him out into the room, mouths in a sloppy, desperate attempt to stay together, and the nearest wall is suitable enough to knock Yuuri’s back against.

He indulges himself in a deep lick into Yuuri’s mouth, pulling out with a gentle tug of his lip; he tries not to wrap his mind around the needy moan Yuuri makes, the way Viktor has pulled him from tired to breathless. He draws back but holds him steady with both his arms to make sure he can’t slip away, because this just might be a fever dream.

His body’s like a wish. Flippant, elegant, wanting — and wrapped in black, it’s like twining something physical around that wish, ensnaring sparkling hope. Yuuri bats his eyes at Viktor, waiting, not even a blush on his face save for the pink of his lips. It’s like he knows. Viktor is drunk with it.

“Please just,” Viktor starts, eyes swallowing the frame of the man in front of him, the edges of black and glitter fitting tight like a well-wrapped secret. Funny, he thinks idly, when he was 15 and dumb and the world was his stage, how he hadn’t known this costume would one day wreck him to pieces when worn by someone else. He finishes, “Tell me if I’m too much.”

Yuuri’s eyes grace him with a roll. “Please, _try_ to even be too much for me,” he threatens. _Is_ it a threat? Viktor might as well take it as one.

He dives back in and places a bite over the thin fabric against Yuuri’s shoulder, wordlessly eating the choking sound it causes Yuuri. His hips push into Yuuri’s; he hopes he can feel him hard, wanting, and desperately wants to feel Yuuri through the delicate fabrics of the costume.

The mesh is made of strong woven threads made to not rip by a crash against hard ice.

He’s going to challenge it tonight. 

He thumbs where Yuuri’s nipples are, and Yuuri jerks into him and maybe Viktor is a little crazy, but he thinks he feels his nipples tighten under the rough fabric. He remembers the fabric well. Biting, unforgiving, tight. 

“Viktor.” His name stumbles out, falls somewhere between the press of their bodies and is crushed there. He feels Yuuri harder against him now, and he suspects — then confirms with a reach of his hand — Yuuri isn't wearing anything under the costume. “What do you want?” Yuuri continues. Eyes half-lidded, mouth bitten and body alive, Yuuri watches him and waits for an answer. 

Viktor slowly shakes his head. “Just let me.” He drops to his knees, dazed, feeling a little crazy. An ocean of want is trapped in his head, crashing back and forth, knocking around sense and dignity. He doesn't think he'll be able to escape it until this is over. He clutches the fabric of the skirt and uses it as an anchor when he begins to mouth the hard line of Yuuri’s cock. 

Tongue wet and pressing, he traces him, giving attention to every centimeter, until Yuuri’s biting his own lip above him and clutching Viktor's shoulder. 

“You'll kill me — ah!” Viktor mouths where the head of his cock is; the fabric is wet and salted with the taste of precum soaking through. Good, he thinks. He sucks long and hard there, palming desperately at him through the fabric, until Yuuri is twitching and shoving gently but persistently at his shoulders, muttering, “Please.”

Viktor meets his eyes. “Unzip for me.” 

Yuuri only blinks surprised for a few moments, and then his hands are scrambling at his back. The sound of unzipping tears through Viktor like a menace; his cock begs, and he knows he's wet with precum too. His skin tightens hot and itching to be touched under all the clothes he still wears, but he can't care. It's all background noise with a cut in the middle to reveal Yuuri as the costume peels off him, lower, until his dick is pink and flush and emerging from the folds of mesh and sequins before Viktor. 

Cool with the wet from all his clothed mouthing, Viktor warms him with the actual envelopment of his mouth, twirling his tongue around the head before beginning a full descent. Yuuri grabs his hair; Viktor grabs at the costume discarded in folds around his waist and yanks him down his throat. 

Yuuri makes a sound with some words that Viktor doesn't catch. It's all just buzzing in his head, lust and emotions rattling around like a storm. With his tugging and pulling, he wordlessly seems to convince Yuuri to start fucking into his mouth. It's needy, almost mean, with the sense that this has unraveled Yuuri in a new way, because usually when they fuck or do this at all there's a bit of planning involved: a simmering knowing that this might happen, because it's finally a free hour, or Yuuri doesn't have a skate the next day, or they won't be confined inside his family’s home, or whatever. The spontaneity blooms out in the way Yuuri’s off-kilter in his gasps and hitches and just how hard he clutches Viktor’s hair. Viktor wishes he'd wrangle him harder, but maybe that's a discussion for another time.

This is what he wants. Himself in his suit, shirt tucked and tie still wrapped around the base of his throat, swallowing Yuuri down while he adorns the remains of this costume. 

“You're evil,” Yuuri chokes out. The breath of a laugh leaves him that quickly transcends into a yell. His fists wrench at the roots of Viktor’s hair, his hips giving a final, deep shove into his throat, and Viktor is in fucking heaven. His own body rattles with pleasure, he's dizzy, wet with sweat and god knows, because he's memorizing this moment. 

He loves him, he loves him and he's so proud of him, so proud of Yuuri. And he'd been such a fool to taunt the eros out of him without knowing it would be his undoing. 

Yuuri’s usually a round two kind of guy, but he swats Viktor gently when he laps greedily at the wet slit of his cock while pulling off. “Too much,” he gasps, then sinks to the floor to Viktor’s level. 

He grins, blissed and dazed, but he's blinking it away and reaching for him; Viktor stops him. 

“I, uh.” And only now does a blush creep onto his face. “That — I am fine. We can just wash up.”

Coming in his pants seemed totally a given for how many months he'd wanted to do this, but in the gently sobering afterglow, he sees it in its potentially embarrassing light.

Yuuri’s eyes widen a little, then a smile cracks, breaking like the dawn, and he seems so serenely sweet sitting there crumpled on the floor, half-dressed and soaked in perspiration and SO much hair gel. 

“Well, we have to shower still. Come with me and we'll see.”

Viktor does and oh, he does.   


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/neptunedemon) and [Tumblr](http://skateonme.tumblr.com)!


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